Love as Thou Wilt
by Erytheia
Summary: Lyla is a new student who enters Hogwarts for her 4th year after the tragic death of her magical tutor. What knowledge did he leave with her, and what is her role in the fight against the Dark Lord? Incorporates ideas from 'Kushiel's Legacy'. SSOC


**DISCLAIMER**: First of all, I would like to clearly establish that this is indeed a Snape/OFC fic (stop reading now if this sort of stuff turns your off), although it may not be readily apparent at first.

Ok, so I have actually taken ideas and characters from the trilogy "Kushiel's Legacy" by Jacqueline Carey and sort of merged them with the Harry Potter universe for this story. The books are excellent, although reading them are not necessary to enjoy the following fic, because it does not heed canon. I just found a lot of parallels between some of the ideals in the books, and thought that it would be an interesting enough read for those of you out there who, like me, are infinitely fascinated by the character Severus Snape but are looking for a fresh take on his possibilities for romance. (surely you haven't read anything with this plot before!)

Harry Potter and all related characters belong to J.K. Rowling, Anafiel Delaunay and his ideas belong to Jacqueline Carey, Lyla and Will are loosely based on characters by her as well, although they have taken on personalities of their own. I am also well aware of the dangers of Mary Sueishness in such a fic, so I have provided a defense for myself at the end of the chapter, so please, read this with an open mind!!

**Love as Thou Wilt:**

Chapter One: In the Beginning...

Staring deeply into the face of her old pocket watch, the young woman sat on the park bench, alone, with endless crowds of people milling past her black patent leather pumps. The sunshine was ambient around her, enveloping her soul in it's golden glimmer as it cast ethereal streaks of auburn throughout her already gleaming sable hair. When she lifted her russet colored eyes, a deep and lustrous darkness that marveled the shadows oaks would cast at dusk, she witnessed the method busy people used to navigate throughout the throes of the city. Head held high, neck rigid and straight, with their eyes constantly darting back and forth as if on the constant look out for danger. Some had odd white buds protruding from their ears, wires connected to a small little machine that spat a constant stream of music into their minds, making them oblivious to the sounds, soft and heartbreakingly real, that were constantly playing all around them. The young woman did not own such a machine, she did not need to. If ever she felt the urge to listen to a song, she could play it in her head, without the aid of faulty technology, and she wished the rest of the population realized they could do the same. She noted that sound was not the only entity such city dwellers missed, for in their haste they did not spare the time to notice other things that filled her own heart with beauty and wonderment. Mundane, everything things that seemed nothing more than ordinary until they were given more thoughtful scrutiny-like the intense amber of the leaves that dusted nearly every inch of the ground, the mockingbird's song, soft and mournful, nearly inseperable from the bustle of the crowd, or the gentle breeze, blowing northeast at about 10 kilometers per hour, carrying with it the faint scent of cinnamon from the street vendor's cart. No, they were all too busy, too noble, with too many things to do and not enough time to do them all.

She knew well enough that not everyone in the world had been blessed with Monsieur Anafiel Delaunay as a tutor, and thus were not capable of observing their surroundings with as much enthusiasm and keenness as she. Actually, she herself just seven years prior would not have noticed that there were exactly twelve oaks, six pines and seven maple trees in her perimeter, and that two men had passed by this same route three times now, and that there was a quarter lying on the path just to her north, heads up, and a discarded button in it's close proximity, nor would she have been able to remember all that if asked to a week, a month, even a year from now. As it were, she was trained well, and was now more than able to do just that.

She ran her fingertips over the back of her watch, eyes closed, her slender fingers tracing the now familiar path of the quote forever etched into the gold plating. "Love as thou wilt.'' She sighed deeply and reached into her pocket for a cigarette, gently taking the thin tube onto her lips before digging into another pocket for a lighter. Lighting the cigarette, she inhaled sharply, and promptly burst into a spasm of coughing. Lelialah Alam was not much of a smoker.

But this was definitely an occasion deserving of a cigarette, if not twenty. Lyla, which she preferred to the whole of her name, was waiting for her best friend of seven years, with whom she would set off to their last meeting before the school term begun. Every meeting she attended was difficult, and quite frankly, frightening, but she knew the cause was worth the efforts three times over, so she did all she was asked without complaint. Or, rather, without much complaint.

Her mind wandered as she sat waiting in the alien city of London, a city she despised with a passion. She had about half an hour before Will was due, as Lyla always preferred being ridiculously early instead of even a second late, it was just who she was. Her mind drifted back, way back, all the way back to the beginning. No, not Genesis, Lyla wasn't even a Christian. In fact, if we are on the topic of religion, Lyla could classify herself as a heretic.

You see, Lyla Alam is a witch.

She wasn't born that way, or so she thought. Her parents were dreadfully ordinary muggles, her father a pharmacist at a Rite Aid down in Corona, her mother a dutiful housewife who cooked dinner, washed dishes and fed the cats every night. Nope, she thought she was just part of a normal family, living a normal life and doomed to be a normal adult like her father, condemned to a future of pushing tiny pills into bottles in a dark corner, wincing at the idea of what such a life would do to her complexion. So she thought until that fateful day in middle school, when her life came crashing down around her feet in a splendid, end of the world kind of splash. That day will forever be known as 'That Day', a day which actually started out remarkably normal. Lyla brushed out her hair, got dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt and ate a bite of toast before running off to school. She bounded up the steps to the front entrance in haste, and tripped over that broken last step yet again, and for the hundredth time cursed the faults of shabby public education as she ran into her first class. Core, they called it, an interesting blend of English and social studies, created more as a solution to the shortage of teachers in the New York City area rather than for any real benefits in the educational curriculum.

The teacher was dim, in Lyla's opinion, and he only engaged in 10 minutes of 'real' teaching before allowing the rest of the children to have their way. It was pretty much a half an hour of free time. So there she sat, reading a Nancy Drew mystery book, and was just at the climax of the whole story when someone plucked the book out of her hands! She was outraged, and rightly so, how would you feel if you were just 2 sentences shy of finding out who the real thief was in one of the most suspenseful stories you have read in a good while only to have the book ungraciously and unnecessarily taken from you? Lyla turned to the offender in anger. It was that snobby rich kid, Sandra was her name. She troubled Lyla before, jealous of her good grades and all the attention she got from boys. As Sandra stood there, taunting her, insulting everything from her clothes to her intelligence, Lyla felt something strange stirring within her. It was an odd tingling sensation, as one gets in there mouth after using very strong mouth wash, only she felt it in her blood. As her anger built up, that strange feeling intensified. The next few moments were a blur. A long, strange, and well, just plain awesome blur. Some people say they saw a spark, others say they saw green laser beams shooting from of her fingertips, but none of that has ever been proven. But there stood Lyla, looking quite content, staring right back at Sandra like a victor of a war, who was speechless as she sniffed the air. It smelled like something had been burning. Reaching up to her face, she realized in mute horror that her eyebrows had been scorched to a millimeter of their life!

Lyla came back home from school that day with a note, stating that she had to see a psychiatrist. Like now. The next day she did, a load of good it did her. The psychiatrist had been a pervert, and looked suspiciously like Santa Claus on crack. She swears she even saw him hold down on a nostril and sniff when he thought she wasn't looking. Her diagnosis? A mild case of insanity.

Lyla's parents knew that couldn't be true. Lyla was a straight A+ student, and never received a grade below a ninety in her life. She was just plain smart. And it wasn't like studying was the only thing she did, she had plenty of friends and went to the mall and had posters of Orlando Bloom up on her walls just like any other girl. They were just about to open the yellow pages to find a second opinion when a large brown owl landed in their back yard. They found this strange, owls weren't indigenous to New York, were they? Even stranger was that there was a letter tied around the owl's leg. Lyla rushed out to investigate (the result of one too many Nancy Drew mysteries, no doubt) when another, smaller and greyish owl swooped in as well, again with a letter tied to its left leg. Curious beyond reason, she petted the smaller owl and untied the letter as yet another owl, this time a black one, flew into the yard. Lyla was plain exasperated now. It had been a long week, and strange owls carrying stranger letters with even stranger return addresses was not helping.

Lyla eventually extracted the remaining letters and went inside to read them. She broke the seal of the first one, whose envelope stated that the American Institute of Sorcery had been responsible for the letter. She read the letter in shock. It explained the reason for her unexplainable actions and reactions, being that she was gifted with magical powers, and that all magical girls, or, to be politically correct, witches, experienced such things at this age, and that it was about time she accept and train her magical abilities. The second letter, from a Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had much the same to say, except they placed u's in words that Lyla was certain did not need u's, in fact she found those u's to be unnecessary and quite distracting. The third letter was the same, although they discarded the saccharine sweet words the first two did ('Congratualtions!! You're a witch! WOOT!) or something along those lines and replaced them with stricter ones (youwitch. Any questions?). The letter was addressed from someplace called Durmstrang or something, Lyla had trouble pronouncing it all the same. Each letter granted Lyla admission to their school, as Lyla, being a witch, was expected to receive a magical education in order to harness her powers.

She looked up at her parents, who had been watching their daughter read with concern. Lyla was the apple of their eye, a baby they had worked very hard to get. Her mother had to undergo countless surgeries to become fertile. They couldn't be prouder, Lyla was everything a daughter should be, and they had such big plans for her. For her to follow in her father's footsteps, become a pharmacist, and rake in 100 g's a year. And afterwards, they would find a suitable boy for her to marry and expect a bunch of bouncing grandchildren. All the crazy psychoanalyzing questionable mental state garbage of the past few days did not fit into their plans.

''Am I...Am I being Punk'd?'' she asked her parents as she handed them the letters. They read the letters in silence. Her mother gasped a few times, her father remained stoic.

''My grandmother used to tell me stories about witches like that, I thought she was just making things up.'' her mother said.

Her father discarded the letters as flukes, but her mother insisted there was something more behind them. Days went by with them doing nothing about the letters. And, each day, in the afternoon, three owls would be waiting in the backyard, each with another letter tied to their legs. Incidents similar to those that occured on 'That Day' increased in frequency as well, until Lyla and her family could no longer deny it. Lyla was a witch.

So Lyla replied to each of the letters, writing that she was very grateful in being told she was a witch, but would not be attending their schools, as her parents felt that as she excelled in muggle school (oh, and she felt strange to write that word!) it would be a shame to waste all her years and not continue with it. But she assured the headmasters of each school that she would look for a tutor, no matter how difficult he may be to find, or teach herself if she had to. She sent each letter with its respective owl, who seemed to waiting for her to do so.

Each school contacted her by the next day. The American school respected her decision, but told her it would be almost impossible to find a tutor who knew so much about magic but chose to live in the muggle world. ''Hmmphh.'' she thought.

Durmstrang's letter, if summarized, stated, ''Fine, it's YOUR funeral."

Hogwarts earned Lyla's admiration. The headmaster, a Mr. Albus Dumbledore, wrote that he accepted her decision, and that if she ever changed her mind she was always welcome at Hogwarts. He also went on to recommend a tutor to her! Lyla was just about to drop to her knees and hail the all mighty Dumbledore when she read his next few sentences.

''Monsieur Anafiel Delaunay has not tutored before, but I can sincerely vouch for his excellence in all areas magical. He in fact holds the titles of Charms master, Transfigurations master, and Potions master. He is also very well versed in the subjects of Ancient Runes and the History of Magic, as well as Defense against the Dark Arts, sadly, a subject that has become crucial for students to know front and back as of recent events. He, as of last month, has already taken on a pupil, and I cannot be certain he will take on another. It is not known for a tutor to take on more than one student, and Monsieur Delaunay has been known to be very picky. But there has never been any harm in trying, has there? And I have a hunch that he will find something very special about you, Miss Alam. I have arranged a meeting for the 25th. The address is below. I wish you luck in this and all your future endeavors.''

''Well isn't this typical.'' Lyla said out loud. ''this kind of stuff ALWAYS happens to me. If only I sent out those letters sooner, damn it!''

The address was in a very posh neighborhood in downtown Manhattan. All Lyla could do was pray that this Delaunay guy would take her on as a pupil. If he didn't, she didn't know what she would do, she'd probably have to give up on magic until she finished with her muggle education.

When the 25th came around, Lyla made sure she looked her best. She was only 11, but she dressed in her best black dress, wore her fancy shoes, and brushed her hair until it shone. She rather liked her appearance. Her parents drove her to the address and they got there, surprise surprise, 20 minutes early. She walked up the front steps to a sort of verandah, perhaps 10 feet by 10 feet in size, and waved at her parents, who chose to remain in the car. They said that she going in on her own was a signal of character. Lyla knew the truth, that they were just not ready to meet a wizard. I mean, she wasn't even ready to meet a real wizard, and she was the witch! Plus, it was impossible to find a parking spot in this part of the city.

Her parents waved back at her, and motioned for her to ring the bell. Lyla looked for a doorbell, but it eluded her. She just lifted her fist to knock when the door flung open.

There, in a foyer that fairly glowed with golden light, stood the most beautiful boy Lyla had ever seen in her life. His faced seemed to be carved of the smoothest porcelain, his skin a flawless shade of pure ivory. His features echoed those of great Hellenistic statues that portrayed the divine deep in thought, his nose, his cheekbones, his lips, each created in miniature perfection. His eyes were a shade of gray that Lyla, for once, was at a loss of words to describe. They were just so warm, and deep, and intense, all at once. They gleamed with laughter when she stared into them, for she supposed her mouth had already hit the floor by then, and a small pool of saliva was accumulating by her feet. Strands of raven black hair were falling into those eyes in quite a devilish manner, and he shook his head to clear his line of vision. When he stepped closer to welcome her, Lyla found he was only a handsbreadth taller than she.

"You must be Lyla!" he said happily.

His voice was clear and sincere, having not yet reached the age of maturity it still had sweet undertones to it. Lyla couldn't help but smile.

"Well, you're early. Strange, people from queens are never early." He grabbed her by the hand and pulled her deeper into the strange loft. "C'mon! Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open, it looks like you're missing a chromosome!"

As they walked together, Lyla was so distracted by the boy that she didn't get to see much of the home itself. From the glimpses she did manage to steal, she knew for a fact, now more than ever, that she was in the presence of magic.

There were bookcases filled to bursting with books, and trunks promising mystery, and strange feathers and objects she couldn't even describe scattered all around, as in a favorite childhood book. Indeed, Lyla felt very much like Alice after she fell into wonderland. The boy put a halt to her observations rather quickly.

"Oh, I'm Will by the way. Will Spellman." he said, offering her a crooked smile.

"Oh, um, hi Will. My name is Lyla Alam. Well, Lelialah actually, but you can call me Lyla." she said, wincing at how she stumbled with words.

"Are you, uhm, Mr. Delaunay's pupil?" she asked.

"Yep. I just started last month." he said, shaking his head. "Actually, I only found out I was a god damned wizard last month. I got a million letters from these crazy owls, and at first I didn't believe any of it, but freaky stuff started going down, so I just finally admitted that hey, I was magic. My parents, well, they didn't want me going away and whatnot, so I asked for a tutor, and after some searching I found Monsieur Delaunay."

"Wow, the same thing happened to me!" Lyla said, excited. Now, understand, Lyla was very desperate to be able to talk to someone about her being a witch, but she was forbidden to tell her friends, and her parents definitely didn't help, so finding someone just like her, and at her age too, was remarkable. And she wasn't gonna let the chance slip.

"And as freaked out as I am by all this, I'm actually really excited to learn. I mean, magic! How cool is that! What sort of stuff have you learned so far Will?" She asked.

"Well, Monsieur Delaunay's very strict about me learning at an equal pace as if I was at a wizarding school, so he makes me come by here every day after school, and every weekend, and most holidays too. On weekends, I'm here eight hours straight!" he said. He laughed at Lyla's shocked impression. "Yea, so I've learned a crap load this past month. Not only does Monsieur Delaunay teach us wizarding stuff, but all sorts of other things too. He'll explain it all to you, don't worry." he said as they reached the door at the end of the long corridor.

Lyla stared up at the door, it was particularly tall and foreboding. She realized with a start that Will was still holding her hand. She looked back at him, and he smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry Lyla. He's a really good guy." Will said, squeezing her hand. "I'll go in with you." He knocked on the door then, and they both stood there, fingers intertwined, waiting for the door to open.

Lyla heard him before she saw him. She heard his light footsteps from the other side of the door, footsteps that were neither rushed nor dragged. She found her grip on Will's hand had strengthened considerably, funny, she'd only met him 5 minutes ago, and yet she felt she could trust him with her life. That's when the door swung open, and she came face to face with the one man she'd soon place her highest beliefs in.

Anafiel Delaunay was not a tall man, nor was he terribly short. If anything, he was of lean height and stature, although his body definitely did not fit his presence. His fine features took Lyla back to books describing European aristocracy, being both classical and hauntingly striking all at once. His eyes were long lashed and gray, flecked with topaz, contrasting nicely with his ginger hair twined into a club at the nape of his neck. He wore a cardigan of rich brown, and a russet scarf around his neck, although the room seemed quite warm. Every movement he made was fluid and elegant, and Lyla was very surprised when she saw his lips form a smirk.

"Well," he said after a lengthy pause, "you must be Miss Lelialah Alam."

His voice was a man's rich tenor, cultivated, but with the lack of modulation only nobles could afford to display. She knows this now, as Delaunay taught her to listen for such things. Back then, she merely thought he disliked her.

She looked at her feet then, and said "Yes. Are you Mr. Delaunay?"

"Yes, and from now I would rather you address me as Monsieur Delaunay, as it is my name." he said, his eyes merry. He turned to Will. "Thank you William, for retrieving her." he said, nodding at Will.

Will smiled with a look akin to adoration in his eyes. "No problem sir." he said.

Delaunay took her face in his hands, and turned it so she was facing him. "You are a comely child." he said, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "Tell me..." he said, his voice now caressing, "How much to do already know about magic?"

Lyla shuddered under his touch. "Not...Not much, Monsieur Delaunay."

"Good." He said, his touch now reassuring. "I'd rather I teach you everything myself, if you are to be my pupil." He dropped his hands and motioned into the room he came from. "Do come in, Lelialah." he said. "You too William."

Will smiled at her before he bounded into the room and took a seat on the couch. The room was decorated in rustic colors, and was very warm and inviting. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, casting a cheery glow around the room. Will patted the seat next to him for Lyla to sit down. She looked back and Delaunay, who nodded, looking amused, and took a seat next to Will. Delaunay reclined at leisure in an armchair opposite them.

It was then Lyla received her first glimpse of magic. Delaunay took a wand out from his cardigan pocket, which Lyla looked to with bewilderment. "Does he really expect me to believe that a piece of freaking wood can do magic?" Lyla thought.

"Actually, you'd be surprised." Delaunay said as he flicked his wrist, pointed it at an empty tray on the coffee table, and transfigured a glass of chilled wine, along with two glasses of cool water and a platter of melon slices.

Lyla looked to him in shock. "What the faaah?" she said outloud, and clamped a hand over her mouth, embarrassed.

Delaunay let out a bark of laughter that startled her. "Not only will you learn to do _that_,_" _he said, motioning at his wand, "but you will learn to perform magic without it as well. Oh, and of course be a master at legilmency and occulmency." he said, talking a sip of his wine.

"Legil a what?" she asked, confused.

"Legilmency. Reading minds with magic. Occulmency. Preventing the reading of ones mind with magic." he said cheerfully. "You will learn all about it in due time. Not only will you be able to read minds with magic, Lelialah, but I will teach you so that you can read a person's deepest thoughts just from looking at them."

"Oh, you can call me Lyla." she said.

"Alright, Lyla then." He said, shrugging and changing the subject. "I am told that you have learned somewhat of the Spanish tongue."

"I've read all of Don Quixote, and I'm half way through Galatea!" She retorted, bristling at his attitude.

"Good." He was unperturbed. "You're not too far behind William then. You can take your lessons together."

"But, I thought I was going to learn magic." she said, her voice falling. "I already go to regular muggle school you know."

"And tell me, have they taught you anything you don't already know?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"I..I guess not." she said.

"Then you should not have any trouble at all keeping up with your muggle school as you simultaneously learn all I teach you. If you are my pupil, you must be well versed in every subject I place value in. Languages are a must, as is poetry, literature and the history or civilization." he said.

Lyla's head swam. "Do we even have enough hours in the day to learn all that?" she asked.

Delaunay chuckled. "We'll find time. As important as mastering magic is, there are things of much more import that I wish to teach you. Above all, the ability to observe, remember and analyze."

"Then you will be teaching me things I already know." she said, sullenly.

"Will I indeed?" He said, leaning back and taking another sip of wine. "Tell me about the verandah you were waiting in before William let you inside. Describe it to me."

"It was a wooden verandah," she said darkly, "Enclosed on all four sides. The floor was creaky, there was a clock hanging on one wall, and the door was opposite it. There was a bench to one side, and a small table in front of it. They were both maroon in color."

"Well done." He glanced at Will. "And you..?"

Will sat up cross legged on the couch. "The verandah was perhaps 10 feet by 10 feet in size, indicating that it was meant for callers, not for the person who owns the house, it was too small to do any real living in. The fact that there was a verandah in the first place shows that the owner likes to segregate himself from outsiders, and that he likes his comfort. Verandahs are not common in New York, that in itself is strange. It was obviously built to withstand the weather, being wooden, and the creaky floors suggest that the owner of the house has many visitors. Being that there was a bench available for someone to sit down shows that the owner would rather his visitors wait outside for him rather than inside, although that quality of the bench, being leather and an attractive color, shows that the owner does care what his visitors think of him and that he has the comfort of the visitor in mind. Also, the way that the verandah is color coordinated shows the owner has very good taste, high standards and expectations. The bench did not look like it was made in New York, suggesting the owner himself is not from New York, and the style of the bench looks European. It also looked expensive, relating to the financial situation of the owner. If I were to make a guess about the owner based on the verandah, I would guess him to be middle aged, of European decent, wealthy, of high breeding and taste who has many visitors he screens. I would consider that suspicious."

Will's gray eyes danced with pleasure of having answered well, although there was no hidden malice in them.

"And better done." Delaunay said.

His face then turned stern and serious, and Lyla found a particular old age beauty in it when it did so. Lyla grew to adore him for it. His gray eyes glinted as he spoke.

"I assure you I will teach you all you could ever wish to learn about doing magic. Charms, Potions, Transfiguration, all subjects I am accredited as master in. Ancient Runes, the history of Magic, Defenses against the Dark Arts, all I will teach you to a point where you know it in your sleep. I will teach you wand less magic, as I said before, and how to apparate, and how to change into your animagi form. I will teach you to duel, both with wands and weapons far more sinister. And I will teach you things not of a magical nature, the most important of which are skills of observation, of judging reactions, of remembering, of analyzing statements people make and finding hidden meanings, all that I will teach you. You two I have chosen to belay as much of my own knowledge as I can, you two I have chosen as my carriers. As our lessons progress you may learn why I wish _you _to know all I do. That time will come soon enough. But, as of now, I will teach you all I feel vital for you to know. Will you allow me that?"

Lyla looked to his face with stark determination. All he had said only served to whet her appetite. She yearned to learn all of which he promised, she yearned to master her magic and ability to gauge human reaction, but most of all she yearned to learn why Delaunay felt it so important she did so. She wanted to learn all Anafiel Delaunay had to offer, and at that moment made up her mind.

"I'll do whatever you ask of me." Lyla said.

**Authors note: **Okay, on the topic of mary sue, one might argue that I am making Lyla and/or Will marysueish. My defense is as follows: Lyla is only described physically at times _after_ her studies with Delaunay, as you will discover in later chapters, he teaches her to appreciate beauty, not only in others but in herself as well. It is one of his precepts, to find beauty and love in everything. After her studies, she finds beauty in herself and it is thereby crucial to describe her. As you may find, she is hardly ever described during her flashback to her youth, prior to her magical education for this very reason. Also, she is very loosely based on a real character, who in fact shares some of her physical traits. Same goes for Will, he is physically originated from a real character.

"His voice was a man's rich tenor, cultivated, but with the lack of modulation only nobles could afford to display," Is a line from "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.

Please review!! I need motivation to continue this monstrosity!


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